


impossible yet here we are

by jetblacklilac



Series: Blinding Hollywood Stars [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Fluff, singer and writer au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-01
Updated: 2020-02-01
Packaged: 2021-02-22 05:07:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22510351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jetblacklilac/pseuds/jetblacklilac
Summary: A beloved singer and a recluse but brilliant writer finally went on a date.
Relationships: Jon Snow/Sansa Stark
Series: Blinding Hollywood Stars [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1619560
Comments: 4
Kudos: 38





	impossible yet here we are

**Author's Note:**

> yes this is fluff. no one dies and it isn't sad. well, yet. read the next bit and see what happens to them!

“I think I’m going to throw up.” Jon grumbled, continuing in pacing in front of the beige couch where his friends miraculously fit in. Given, Grenn sat on the chair nearer to the fireplace, but he had everyone’s attention.

“If you’ll do, don’t do it on the carpet. I gave that to you as a welcoming present.” Sam complained with an arched brow, but his voice was softer out of the subtle concern.

He pressed his palms down his dress shirt. It’s tucked in the tight black trousers he wore; he even threw in a blue blazer due to the request of his friends. Originally, he wore the classic black and white suit but they commented on how it was such a “wedding” vibe and she might assume they’re in the reception section already.

“Jon, we haven’t hired a singer when she’ll walk down the aisle, much less the staff for the buffet!” Grenn complained, earning a laugh from everyone and making him blush.

Jon has his hands behind his back but thankfully stopped walking to and fro, effectively eradicating the confusion of his friends. “You think it’s too insane, obsessive behaviour even if I go to the restaurant two hours before the agreed time?” He questioned, high and nervous.

“Oh, absolutely. She’ll freak out when she finds out; dump you right on the spot.” Gendry agreed, redirecting his attention from the television to his jittery friend. He smirks then resumes in watching the footy game.

Jon willfully ignores the fact Gendry is dating Arya and they’re at that comfortable bliss.

“You should’ve gone three hours before. That’s the social norm. But you wouldn’t know because it’s been centuries since you’ve been on a date!” Pip teased then drank from his cold can of soda. He’s squeezed in the middle of Sam and Gendry; the more sensible out of the group.

The chubby brunette gave him an uplifting smile and two thumbs up, despite Grenn and Pip gesticulating throughout their story, making Gendry chuckle in amusement. “You’ll do fine.” He reassures.

“Sit down first. You can leave like thirty minutes before the reservation.” Gendry calmly advised, pointing to the empty plush chair across of him.

Jon flopped down; he puffed a heavy breath he didn’t know he was holding in. “I’m just nervous, you know?”

“Oh we know.” They all chorused without sparing him a look, all of them concentrating on the game.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

“I’m going to die.”

“Yeah out of excitement and unresolved sexual gratification.” Jeyne replied nonchalantly. She’s spread out on Sansa’s bed, legs swinging and several dresses resting on her stomach. She jested on how she could make a blanket out of them. 

Sansa puffed a breath; a stray fiery curl danced in the air then went back to caressing her cheek. She leaned on her vanity, arms crossed, and toes curling into her furry rug. “I think I should get going. Don’t want to be caught up in the downtown traffic.” She reasoned, her foot sliding into her high heel then the other foot as well.

The other brunette clicks her tongue, lifting a random shirt with rainbow designs all over it. “You’d only hurt your pretty feet by waiting two hours in the restaurant. The staff would think you got stood up.” She smartly replies, by this angle, her freckles are clearer as are her caramel eyes.

“As usual, you say the wise things I need to hear.” She mutters, her hands smoothening her dress, making the texture even smoother. She wore a simple black dress but it stopped high on her thighs and the V-line generously showcases her chest, but in a modest manner.

Jeyne rolled on her stomach, denim clad jeans in the air and her hands cupped her cheeks. “You look fabulous, by the way. Thank God we went through your wardrobe yesterday instead of now. If we did that then you’d surely be late and you’ll forever regret having such an extensive wardrobe. Oh and I’m keeping this.” Her best friend insisted, waving a navy plaid shirt.

Sansa waves her hand in the air. “Sure, sure.” She stared at the digital clock on the bedside table, either mocking or taunting her of the impending date. She has been waiting for this day since Jon said the very words she sweetly hears in her dreams. She could wait those two hours replying how shyer the recluse author went after he uttered his request, his cheeks lightly dusting with a blush, and now, a smile curves her mouth.

“Oooohh…” Jeyne cooed as she waggles her eyebrows. “Someone’s excited for the date. And that person is me! Like, _finally,_ after suffering two years of your puppy eyes, crush rambling, and lovesick sighs, it’ll end.”

Sansa giggled and pouted. She couldn’t help it if she _had_ to talk to someone about her of infatuation with one of the most recognized gifted writers of their time. And now, or rather an hour and forty-five minutes from now, she’ll be having dinner with him.

“You know, if this goes on, you’ll be hearing a lot from me. I’ll be even deeper into this crush.” Sansa warned with a lilting voice. She laughed harder at the horror creeping on her best friend’s face.

“Oh my God!” Jeyne shrieked in mock horror. “Sansa, you have to cancel the date. Think about me and my poor ears!”

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

The restaurant was subtle in its grandeur. Beige to white walls displayed priceless artworks from around the world and smooth Greek marble columns supporting the roof. The tables are covered in pearl white cloths and the chairs were plush and grey. Lit candles planted on each table and Italian music were assisting in flouring the romantic atmosphere of the evening.

Sansa only had to say Jon’s name and the waiter stepped down for the podium to personally assist her. They weave through the circular tables, different sorts of patrons dined on the Michelin menu paired with vintage wine.

They arrived at the exclusive section of the restaurant, half-circular velvet cushions facing the table. Low lights made it difficult to spot her date but eventually, the waiter paused at one of the most secluded table.

“Hi.” She chirps, hoping it was _too_ enthusiastic; beaming at the sight.

Jon stood up and handed her the bouquet of bright and fresh red roses. His free hand swipes down on his thin onyx tie. “Wow, y-you look resplendent, so very much stunning and elegant.” He mutters.

“Are you reciting from the thesaurus?” Sansa teases with a quirked mouth.

They both thank the waiter as he takes down their orders and he leaves them alone.

_Together alone,_ she fawns in her mind because after all those years of pining helplessly, they’re presently having dinner together.

The conversation flowed sweetly like the 1940’s wine filling their glasses. It was as though nothing had changed except for their adorned expressions finally soften their faces with shy smiles. As Jon recounted a bizarre idea he was tempted to incorporate into his story, Sansa reached across the table to interlace her fingers with his.

He couldn’t continue with the story because his already frantic heart climbed to his throat. As though the organ wanted to say, _you want me? Fine take me away. It’s always been yours anyways._

“I-I’m sorry if I interrupted.” Sansa apologized. “I-it’s just you have no idea how much I want to hold your hand.” She says with ardent conviction that it’s the tone that could inspire the jury to acquit her from any crime.

Jon blinks, wondering if he’s drunk with wine and this is clearly a hallucination. 

She made a move to detangle the hold but he tightened it. Reaching forward, he lays a gentle kiss on her knuckles. “You’re the sweetest person to live, I swear.” She laughs, awed and fond in the same breath.

“You deserve nothing less.” She vowed, her thumb swiping on the back of his hand. “To be honest, I’m surprised you even accepted to go out with me.” She continued but her voice shrank to a whisper, like she’s ending one of her songs in a concert. 

_How can I reject a night out with one of the world’s most sought out women? More importantly how can I reject my crush?_

“Tell me you’re playing the really humble card right now. No way had you really thought that.” Jon says in bewilderment. How is _that_ mindset even possible?

Her laughing response is richer than the wordless Italian songs resonating around the restaurant. “For real! I thought your type is someone like you; smart, someone who loves reading books and likes coffee.”

She jokingly pouts and he pretends to not swoon over such an adorable action. The candlelights softened her face, lit her hair into coppery silks, and Jon wanted this moment to last forever. “You don’t like coffee then?”

“Not really no. I don’t get why people like it so much.” She answered, scrunching his nose in an endearing reaction.

“I’m sorry but we _have_ to end this date. How can I continue in seeing a person who doesn’t like my favoruite drink?” Jon decides in a stern tone. 

He hides his laughter in seeing the famed pop star blanch at his declaration.

Her eyes went large for a second or two and her lipstick glistened mouth loosened in shock. “I-I can like coffee for you.” She hastily stated, tugging their interlaced hands towards her. Her posture slackens when he laughs, a carefree way they haven’t done in years. “You’re showing your true colours in our first date.”

“I’ll be honest too; I’m surprised you suggested we have dinner.” Jon admits, his voice as soft as the candle’s flames bathing their skin in light shades of orange. He nervously tittered and drank from his glass of wine, mindful that Sansa was intensely staring at him.

“What made you think that?” She asked in a low tone.

Jon lets out a breath. “Oh come on, you’re this worldwide known celebrity. I’m an author of best-selling books yeah but most people don’t recognise me in public. Our careers aren’t exactly ideal for stable relationships.” He rolls her fork in the thick gravy sauce of his beef sirloin. “And besides, I thought you’d go for someone within your status, a performer too like Harry Hardyng.”

He didn’t mean to be so insecure in their first date. But the interview of Sansa specifically mentioning the other singer as her ideal type is replaying in his head right now. She takes another quiet sip of her wine, letting the silence stretches on.

“So if I like Harry, why are we on a date?” She wonders. She must’ve drank from her glass as well because a tiny spec of purple stains the corner of her mouth. It tempts him to lick it off.

Jon tried to find an excuse to not answer the rather obvious route. _We’re not on the same level here._ He thought bitterly. “Why did you?” He echoed her question, finding the suspense too suffocating in their secluded booth.

“I’m half-way to being in love with you as of the moment, ever since we met actually. That’s why I asked you out.” Sansa answered in all nonchalance it couldn’t be taken anything but the truth. She acted as though her revelation wasn’t a shocking one to her date.

Smiling, he interlaces their hands again and this time, it’s him who pressed the gentlest kiss on her knuckles.

_Perhaps the wine flowed too directly to my mind._

Jon did the only thing that seemed equally devoting as the redhead’s declaration. He slides across the booth and presses himself closer to her. Leaning forward, he kisses the corner of her mouth, tasting the wine stain she kept on staring earlier.

“Thank you for being honest with me.” He whispers, eyes flicking to Sansa’s. A shiver feathers down his spine at how her eyes of cerulean are nearly dark as night; just as exhilarating and dangerous. He gives her a bright smile as his arm circles loosely on her waist. Leaning to her, his lips lays a kiss on the side of her head.

“Always, for you.” She reverently whispers.

And he knows it’s to present a permission to go further. He revels in the freedom he has with her. Jon wonders if she can almost feel the scratch of his beard. Her nose traces the apple of his cheek and grins when his hand cups her hip fully. The heat of the restaurant is nothing compared to the innate warmth her smile emits. She’s curling to his side like an affectionate feline.

She could almost read the headlines for tomorrow. _Sansa Stark, Princess of Pop, seen being cosy with long-time friend Jon Snow!_

“Would the couple care for desserts?” The waiter asked, standing in front of their table. A pen and a notepad are occupying his hand.

“No thank you. The check will do.” Jon says with a smile.

Shortly after paying, he guides her to his sports car.

“You know I’m craving something sweet.” Sansa says as she clips the seatbelt on.

The engine roars to life. “What is it? I’m sure we can pick it up along the way.” He absentmindedly says.

“I’d like for you to sing my name; that’ll be the sweetest melody.” Sansa whispers with wicked intent. She giggles loud as Jon reaches for her, cupping her cheeks and ardently kissing her.

In the years of their friendship, Sansa kept this infatuation to herself and her friends. She seals her secret behind relatively tight lips. But now, it’s as though she writes the unsaid poems on Jon’s lush pink lips. A kiss shouldn’t feel this good, right? Perhaps it’s the wine definitely saturating her thoughts because his kisses are, indeed, the sweetest things she has ever tasted. Lemon cakes are of the past.

Her fingers delve into his mass of curls, delighting at the vibration of his groan that seems to echo into their reverent kisses. If she could, she would press tighter to his side, and she’d like to stay there forever. She revels in the gentle touch he bestows upon, her briefly cradling the back of her head so he can angle himself and deepen the kiss. His thumb swipes on the underside of her jaw and Sansa would’ve sighed his name if not for his velvet tongue continuing this dance; long overdue but all too familiar.

Unfortunately, oxygen is vital to them. Sansa’s lung’s doesn’t seem content with the scent of Jon, his perfume and the very air he radiates. She giggles at seeing how messy he is; dark curls nearly obscuring his eyes that were once grey but now, nearly resembled two pools of inky tar. His mouth was blaringly red and she knows hers is the same.

“Let’s get that round two of dessert later, yeah?” He whispers, dark as the night they’re in and full of wickedness. Mother would’ve sent her to a convent for being equally enthusiastic.

“Yes please.” Sansa replies with a curved mouth.

She still has _some_ manners in her lust addled brain.


End file.
